Stepping Out Of The Folksong

Who will applaud

the Slavic girl spinning

in paisley skirts

with a tabourine in hand,

the tall poet

playing a flute

in his white shirt

with embroidered vest ?

Maybe the wind

slapping dusk

with golden leaves

and the cold vacancy

of a park.

Who might roll

a bottle of vodka

toward the lovers

dancing to forget

the world,

                its hunt for war?

.Maybe the silver dog

who drags in night

               (the heavier dark)

and sniffs a pint

of liquor spilling

under the bushes.

The blood hound who let

his star burn out – -

                  becoming now

its shadow of frost,

this damp weariness.

What statue will lean

over the couple

as they sleep

on burlap and slight bones?

Only the stone

woman who stoops.

stretching her scratched hands

                 toward God.